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[page 67:]
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MESMERIC REVELATION.
———
BY EDGAR A. POE.
———
WHATEVER
doubt may still envelop the rationale of mesmerism, its
startling facts are now almost universally admitted. Of
these
latter,
those who doubt are your mere doubters by profession — an unprofitable
and disreputable tribe. There can be no more absolute waste of
time
than the attempt to prove, at the present day, that man, by
mere
exercise of will, can so impress his fellow as to cast him into an
abnormal
condition, whose phenomena resemble very closely those of death,
or at least resemble them more nearly than they do the phenomena of any
other normal condition within our cognizance; that, while in
this
state, the person so impressed employs only with effort, and then
feebly,
the external organs of sense, yet perceives, with keenly refined
perception,
and through channels supposed unknown, matters beyond the scope of the
physical organs; that, moreover, his intellectual faculties are
wonderfully exalted and invigorated; that his sympathies with
the
person so impressing him are profound; and, finally, that his
susceptibility
to the impression increases with its frequency, while, in the same
proportion,
the peculiar phenomena elicited are more extended and more pronounced.
I say that these — which are the
laws of
mesmerism
in its general features — it would be supererogation to demonstrate;
nor shall I inflict upon my readers so needless a demonstration
to-day. My purpose at present is a very different one
indeed.
I am impelled, even in the teeth of a world of prejudice, to detail
without
comment the very remarkable substance of a colloquy, occurring not many
days ago between a sleep-waker and myself.
I had been long in the habit of
mesmerizing
the person in question, (Mr. Vankirk,) and the usual acute
susceptibility
and exaltation of the mesmeric perception had supervened. For many
months
he had been laboring under confirmed phtsis [[phthisis]], the more
distressing
effects
of which had been relieved by my manipulations; and on the night
of Wednesday, the fifteenth instant, I was summoned to his bedside.
The invalid was suffering with
acute pain
in
the region of the heart, and breathed with great difficulty, having all
the ordinary symptoms of asthma. In spasms such as these he had
usually
found relief from the application of mustard to the nervous centres,
but
to-night this had been attempted in vain. [column 2:]
As I entered his room he
greeted me with a
cheerful smile, and although evidently in much bodily pain, appeared to
be, mentally, quite at ease.
"I sent for you to-night," he
said, "not so
much to administer to my bodily ailment as to satisfy me concerning
certain
psychal impressions which, of late, have occasioned me much anxiety and
surprise. I need not tell you how sceptical I have hitherto been
on the topic of the soul's immortality. I cannot deny that there
has always existed, as if in that very soul which I have been denying,
a vague, half[[-]]sentiment of its own existence. But this
half[[-]]sentiment
at no time amounted to conviction. With it my reason had nothing to
do. All attempts at logical inquiry resulted, indeed, in leaving me
more
sceptical
than before. I had been advised to study Cousin. I studied
him in his own works as well as in those of his European and American
echoes. The "Charles Elwood" [['Charles Elwood']] of Mr. Brownson, for
example, was placed
in my
hands. I read it with profound attention. Throughout I found it
logical,
but the portions which were not merely logical were unhappily
the
initial arguments of the disbelieving hero of the book. In his
summing
up it seemed evident to me that the reasoner had not even succeeded in
convincing himself. His end had plainly forgotten his beginning,
like the government of Trinculo. In short, I was not long in
perceiving
that if man is to be intellectually convinced of his own immortality,
he
will never be so convinced by the mere abstractions which have
been
so long the fashion of the moralists of England, of France and of
Germany. Abstractions may amuse and exercise, but take no hold upon the
mind. Here upon earth, at least, philosophy, I am persuaded, will
always in
vain
call upon us to look upon qualities as things. The will may
assent
— the soul — the intellect, never.
I repeat, then, that I only
half felt, and
never intellectually believed. But latterly there has been a
certain
deepening of the feeling, until it has come so nearly to resemble the
acquiescence
of reason, that I find it difficult to distinguish between the
two. I am enabled, too, plainly to trace this effect to the mesmeric
influence. I cannot better explain my meaning than by the hypothesis
that the
mesmeric
exaltation enables me to perceive a train of convincing ratiocination —
a train which, in my abnormal existence, convinces, but which, [page
68:] in full accordance with the mesmeric phenomena, does
not
extend, except through its effect, into my normal condition. In
sleep-waking, the reasoning and its conclusion — the cause and its
effect
— are present together. In my natural state, the cause vanishing,
the effect only, and perhaps only partially, remains.
These considerations have led
me to think
that
some good results might ensue from a series of well[[-]]directed
questions
propounded to me while mesmerized. You have often observed the
profound
self-cognizance evinced by the sleep-waker, the extensive knowledge he
displays upon all points relating to the mesmeric condition
itself; and from this self-cognizance may be deduced hints for the
proper
conduct
of a catechism.[["]]
I consented of course to make
this
experiment. A few passes threw Mr. Vankirk into the mesmeric sleep. His
breathing
became immediately more easy, and he seemed to suffer no physical
uneasiness. The following conversation then ensued. [[,]] V. in the
dialogue
representing
Mr. Vankirk, and P. myself.
P. Are you asleep?
V. Yes — no; I would
rather sleep more
soundly.
P. (After a few more pauses.)
Do you
sleep now?
V. Yes.
P. Do you still feel the pain in your
heart?
V. No.
P. How do you think your
present illness
will
result?
V. (After [[a]]
long
hesitation
and speaking as if with effort.) I must die.
P. Does the idea of death
afflict you?
V. (Very quickly.) No —
no!
P. Are you pleased with the
prospect?
V. If I were awake I should
like to die,
but
now it is no matter. The mesmeric condition is so near death as
to
content me.
P. I wish you would explain
yourself, Mr.
Vankirk.
V. I am willing to do so, but
it requires
more
effort than I feel able to make. You do not question me properly.
P. What then shall I ask?
V. You must begin at the
beginning.
P. The beginning! but
where is the
beginning.
[[?]]
V. You know that the beginning
is GOD. [This was said in a low, fluctuating
tone, and with every sign of the
most
profound veneration.]
P. What then is God?
V. (Hesitating for many
minutes.) I
cannot tell.
P. Is not God spirit?
V. While I was awake I knew
what you meant
by "spirit," but now it seems only a word — such for instance as truth,
beauty — a quality, I mean.
P. Is not God immaterial?
V. There is no immateriality —
it is a mere [column 2:] word. That which is
not matter
is
not at all, unless qualities are things.
P. Is God, then, material?
V. No. [This reply
startled me
very
much.]
P. What then is he?
V. (After a long pause, and
mutteringly.)
I see — but it is a thing difficult to tell. [Another long
pause.]
He is not spirit, for he exists. Nor is he matter, as you
understand
it. But there are gradations of matter of which man
knows
nothing; the grosser impelling the finer, the finer pervading
the
grosser. The atmosphere, for example, impels or modifies the
electric
principle, while the electric principle permeates the atmosphere.
These gradations of matter increase in rarity or fineness, until we
arrive
at a matter unparticled — without particles — indivisible — one;
and here the law of impulsion and permeation is modified. The
ultimate,
or unparticled matter, not only permeates all things but impels all
things
— and thus is all things within itself. This matter is
God. What men vaguely attempt to embody in the word "thought," is this
matter
in motion.
P. The metaphysicians maintain
that all
action
is reducible to motion and thinking, and that the latter is the origin
of the former.
V. Yes; and I now see
the confusion
of idea. Motion is the action of mind — not of thinking.
The unparticled matter, or God, in quiescence, is (as nearly as we can
conceive it) what men call mind. And the power of self-movement
(equivalent
in effect to human volition) is, in the unparticled matter, the result
of its unity and omniprevalence; how, I know not, and now
clearly see that I shall never know. But the unparticled matter,
set in motion by a law, or quality, existing within itself, is
thinking.
P. Can you give me no more
precise idea of
what you term the unparticled matter?
V. The matters of which man is
cognizant
escape
the senses in gradation. We have, for example, a metal, a piece of
wood,
a drop of water, the atmosphere, a gas, caloric, light, electricity,
the
luminiferous ether. Now we call all these things matter, and
embrace
all matter in one general definition; but in spite of
this,
there can be no two ideas more essentially distinct than that which we
attach to a metal, and that which we attach to the luminiferous
ether. When we reach the latter, we feel an almost irresistible
inclination to
class it with spirit, or with nihility. The only consideration
which
restrains us is our conception of its atomic constitution; and
here,
even, we have to seek aid from our notion of an atom, possessing in
infinite
minuteness, solidity, palpability, weight. Destroy the idea of
the
atomic constitution and we should no longer be able to regard the ether
as an entity, or at least as matter. For want of a better word we
might term it spirit. Take, [page 69:] now,
a
step beyond the luminiferous ether — conceive a matter as much more
rare
than the ether as this ether is more rare than the metal, and we
arrive
at once (in spite of all the school dogmas) at a unique mass —
at
unparticled matter. For, although we may admit infinite littleness
in the atoms themselves, the infinitude of littleness in the spaces
between
them is an absurdity. There will be a point — there will be a
degree
of rarity, at which, if the atoms are sufficiently numerous, the
interspaces
must vanish, and the mass absolutely coalesce. But the
consideration
of the atomic construction being now taken away, the nature of the mass
inevitably glides into what we conceive of spirit. It is clear,
however, that it is as fully matter as before. The truth
is,
it is impossible to conceive spirit, since it is impossible to imagine
what is not. When we flatter ourselves that we have formed its
conception,
we have merely deceived our understanding by the consideration of
infinitely
rarefied [[rarified]] matter.
P. But, in all this, is there
nothing of
irreverence? [I was forced to repeat this question before the
sleep-waker
fully
comprehended my meaning.]
V. Can you say why
matter should be
less reverenced than mind? But you forget that the matter of
which
I speak is, in all respects, the very "mind" or "spirit" of the
schools,
so far as regards its high capacities, and is, moreover, the "matter"
of
these schools at the same time. God, with all the powers
attributed
to spirit, is but the perfection of matter.
P. You assert, then, that the
unparticled
matter,
in motion, is thought?
V. In general, this motion is
the universal
thought of the universal mind. This thought creates. All
created
things are but the thoughts of God.
P. You say "in general."
V. Yes. The universal
mind is
God. For new individualities, matter is necessary.
P. But you now speak of "mind"
and "matter"
as do the metaphysicians.
V. Yes — to avoid
confusion. When I
say
"mind," I mean the unparticled or ultimate matter; by "matter,"
I intend all else.
P. You were saying that "for
new
individualities
matter is necessary."
V. Yes; for mind,
existing
unincorporate,
is merely God. To create individual, thinking beings, it was
necessary
to incarnate portions of the divine mind. Thus man is
individualized. Divested of corporate investiture, he were God. Now,
the
particular
motion of the incarnated portions of the unparticled matter is the
thought
of man; as the motion of the whole is that of God.
P. You say that divested of the
body man
will
be God?
V. (After much hesitation.)
I could
not have said this; it is an absurdity. [column 2:]
P. (Referring to my notes.)
You did
say that "divested of corporate investiture man were God."
V. And this is true. Man
thus
divested would be God — would be unindividualized. But he can
never be
thus
divested — at least never will be — else we must imagine an
action
of God returning upon itself — a purposeless and futile action. Man
is a creature. Creatures are thoughts of God. It is the
nature
of thought to be irrevocable.
P. I do not comprehend.
You say that
man will never put off the body?
V. I say that he will never be
bodiless.
P. Explain.
V. There are two bodies — the
rudimental
and
the complete; corresponding with the two conditions of the worm
and the butterfly. What we call "death," is but the painful
metamorphosis. Our present incarnation is progressive, preparatory,
temporary.
Our
future is perfected, ultimate, immortal. The ultimate life is the
full design.
P. But of the worm's
metamorphosis we are
palpably
cognizant.
V. We, certainly — but
not the
worm. The matter of which our rudimental body is composed, is within
the ken
of the organs of that body; or more distinctly our rudimental
organs are adapted to the matter of which is formed the rudimental
body; but not to that of which the ultimate is composed. The
ultimate
body thus escapes our rudimental senses, and we perceive only the shell
which falls in decaying from the inner form; not that inner
form
itself; but this inner form, as well as the shell, is
appreciable
by those who have already acquired the ultimate life.
P. You have often said that the
mesmeric
state
very nearly resembles death. How is this?
V. When I say that it resembles
death, I
mean
that it resembles the ultimate life; for the senses of my rudimental
life are in abeyance, and I perceive external things
directly,
without organs, through a medium which I shall employ in the ultimate,
unorganized life.
P. Unorganized?
V. Yes; organs are
contrivances
by which the individual is brought into sensible relation with
particular
classes and forms of matter, to the exclusion of other classes and
forms. The organs of man are adapted to his rudimental condition, and
to that
only; his ultimate condition, being unorganized, is of
unlimited
comprehension in all points but one — the nature of the volition, or
motion, of the unparticled matter. You will
have a distinct idea of the ultimate body by conceiving it to be entire
brain. This it is not; but a conception of
this
nature will bring you near a comprehension of what it is. A
luminous body imparts vibration to the luminiferous ether. The
vibrations generate similar ones within the retina, which again
communicate
similar ones to the optic nerve. The [page 70:]
nerve conveys similar ones to the brain; the brain, also,
similar
ones to the unparticled matter which permeates it. The motion of
this latter is thought, of which perception is the first
undulation. This is the mode by which the mind of the rudimental life
communicates
with the external world; and this external world is limited,
through
the idiosyncrasy of the organs. But in the ultimate, unorganized
life, the external world reaches the whole body, (which is of a
substance
having affinity to brain, as I have said,) with no other intervention
than
that of an infinitely rarer ether than even the luminiferous;
and
to this ether — in unison with it — the whole body vibrates, setting in
motion the unparticled matter which permeates it. It is to the
absence
of idiosyncratic organs, therefore, that we must attribute the nearly
unlimited
perception of the ultimate life. To rudimental beings, organs are
the cages necessary to confine them until fledged.
P. You speak of rudimental
"beings." Are
there
other rudimental thinking beings than man?
V. The multitudinous
conglomeration of rare [column 2:] matter into nebulæ,
planets,
suns
and other bodies which are neither nebulæ, suns, nor planets, is
for the sole purpose of supplying pabulum for the idiosyncrasy
of
the organs of an infinity of rudimental beings. But for the
necessity
of the rudimental, prior to the ultimate life, there would have been no
bodies such as these. Each of these is tenanted by a distinct variety
of
organic, rudimental, thinking creatures. In all, the organs vary
with the features of the place tenanted. At death, or
metamorphosis,
these creatures, enjoying the ultimate life, and cognizant of all
secrets
but the one, pervade at pleasure the weird dominions of the
infinite.
As the sleep-waker pronounced these
latter words,
in a feeble tone, I observed upon his countenance a singular
expression,
which somewhat alarmed me, and induced me to awake him at once.
No
sooner had I done this, than, with a bright smile irradiating all his
features,
he fell back upon his pillow and expired. I noticed that in less
than a minute afterward his corpse had all the stern rigidity of stone.
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